


ghostin'

by iwritetrash



Category: Victoria (TV)
Genre: Angst, Edward Drummond Dies, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Past Character Death, Recovery, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2020-02-29 01:26:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18768376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwritetrash/pseuds/iwritetrash
Summary: i know that it breaks your heart when i cry again, over him





	ghostin'

**Author's Note:**

> guys i was feeling really crap when i wrote this, and it's basically just a whole big bucket of low-quality angst that im only posting for the validation.
> 
> it does deal with some heavy themes that i've tagged, so please _please_ heed those warnings and don't read it if anything tagged makes you uncomfortable.
> 
> also this whole stupid fic was born out of me listening to [ghostin'](https://open.spotify.com/track/2vdBo4ALPYbHRUPKgtE5iC?si=rLHsdavASVG2wiw1nmbRMA) by ariana grande so if you want something to listen to while you read that's my official rec
> 
> (or if you need a whole playlist i made [an extra sad one](https://open.spotify.com/user/11170633048/playlist/22ojY82ZMM5UYXIumymy7y?si=sJjYAC5dT4i7yHE86bbGwA) just for this fic bc my usual sad playlist wasn't doing the job)
> 
> anyway yeah, on with the shitstorm

It’s been five years since the accident.

Five years since Edward walked out of the door and never came back. 

Five years since he left a voicemail to let Alfred know he’d be out ‘til late.

Five years since an idiot had a few too many beers and decided to drive home anyway. 

Five years since that same idiot wrapped his car around a tree and sent Edward’s spiralling off the road.

Five years, to the day.

Alfred’s been doing well, lately. It’s not like he’s forgotten Edward – he honestly doesn’t think he could if he wanted to – but his memory doesn’t feel as all-consuming as it used to.

After the first year or so he finally stopped seeing Edward everywhere, stopped expecting to see him when he turned corners, or looked in mirrors, stopped searching for his face in every crowded room.

After the second year, he moved into a new place, somewhere a little more within his budget, and with a little less of Edward’s presence. He’d spent the first few nights crying for hours on end, over the new sheets, the boxes of Edward’s things he’d finally given up in the move, the missing marks on the wall from that time he and Edward rattled the headboard a little too hard, or the time Edward dropped a mug of coffee that splattered up the entire wall.

After the third year, he boxed up all the hoodies he had stolen from Edward’s wardrobe way back when they first started dating and placed them at the back of his own wardrobe. He wasn’t ready to give them up, and maybe he never would be, but he was ready to stop wearing them every night to get to sleep.

After the fourth year, he went on a date for the first time since Edward died without bursting into tears mid-way through drinks. His name was Anthony, and he had kind eyes, and he smiled the way Edward used to, but it didn’t hurt the way it had before. It was just a familiar smile, on another boy.

And now, five years on, Alfred has a boyfriend he’s been seeing for a few months named Jamie, and he can go whole days without thinking of Edward sometimes. When he does, though, when he remembers, he feels the guilt flush through him, and the loss feels almost as palpable as it did five years ago. He cries, more often than not, on those nights, muffling his tears into the pillow so Jamie won’t hear. 

The anniversary of Edward’s death was always going to be a difficult subject to broach. How do you tell your boyfriend that you want to visit your dead husband’s grave because a part of you will always love him, no matter how much time passes?

Well, you invite him to join you. 

“Hey, Edward.” Alfred sits down on the grass in front of the gravestone. “I brought you daffodils. I was thinking maybe I should plant some, you know?” 

He places the small bouquet of daffodils on the grass in front of him and takes a moment to trace over the words he’s read a thousand times. 

_Edward Drummond_

_1985-2014_

_Flights of angels sing thee to thy rest_

“I brought a friend,” Alfred glances over his shoulder at Jamie, who’s hovering a little way behind him. “Or rather, a boyfriend.” He cocks his head at Jamie a little, beckoning him over. “His name’s Jamie. He owns a pretentious bookshop that has a whole shelf full of Oscar Wilde.” 

Alfred presses his eyes closed and feels Jamie’s hand on his shoulder like a grounding presence. 

“I think you’d really like him,” Alfred says, placing his hand over Jamie’s and squeezing. “Except for the fact that he’s dating me, which I’m sure you’d hate.” He chuckles a little wetly, wiping away a couple of tears that track down his cheeks.

He can imagine Edward in whatever afterlife he’s in now, shaking his head and laughing with him. Edward would want him to be happy, Alfred reminds himself. And yet this all still feels wrong, like he’s betraying Edward, and betraying Jamie too. Two hearts broken even though one isn’t beating anymore.

“Hey,” Alfred squeezes Jamie’s hand gently. “D’you think you could give me a moment alone?” He almost adds _with him_ but stops himself short.

This weird expression crosses Jamie’s face, like he’s sort of hurt by Alfred sending him away, but then Alfred supposes this can’t be easy for him either. Him and Jamie have been getting serious, having talks about their Future, and yet here Alfred is crying in front of his ex-husband’s grave.

He wishes he knew how to explain to Jamie without hurting him.

“Yeah, of course.” Jamie looks like he so desperately wants to support Alfred, to help him through this, but he also seems to know it’s not really his jurisdiction. “Take as long as you need.”

“Thank you,” Alfred mouths to him, pressing a kiss to Jamie’s hand before it slips off his shoulder.

He watches Jamie wander off a reasonable distance, over to a bench at the edge of the graveyard, and take a seat. Once Alfred is confident that Jamie is out of earshot, he turns back to Edward. Or, rather, his gravestone.

“He’ll never be you,” Alfred murmurs. “He’ll never properly fill the space you left. But… I don’t know, he seems like the best fit I’ve met in a while. And I really love him, you know?”

Alfred sits for a moment, almost like he’s expecting some kind of response from Edward, some kind of miracle that might show Edward’s approval from beyond the grave, like a rainbow or a ray of sun creeping through the clouds. But the day stays grey and overcast, not a rainbow or sunbeam to be seen.

“God, I miss you.” Alfred lets his eyes fall shut as tears threaten to spill down his cheeks yet again. “Things still feel weird without you. When Mina and Flo and I have game nights there’s nobody to completely thrash the rest of us in monopoly. I’m sure Harriet could if we invited her to join but… Even after 5 years it just feels… wrong.” Alfred shakes his head and pulls a tissue out of his pocket to wipe away the tears on his cheeks. “I don’t know if I ever mentioned that before.”

He manages to compose himself eventually, and launches into a much more casual discussion of how the last couple of weeks have been. He tells Edward about his brunch with Harriet, and how his boss is threatening to fire him if he doesn’t turn in a decent article soon, and how he’s thinking of quitting to write freelance except…

“Jamie asked me to move in with him.”

The words hang in the air for a moment, like Alfred is waiting for some earth-shattering reaction again, some kind of crack of thunder. But, as always, nothing happens. 

“I don’t know what to do, Edward. I love him but… It hurts him, seeing me like this, crying over you, still. And I don’t want to be that guy, you know? He says he doesn’t mind but… I mean, doesn’t he deserve more than being a replacement for you?” Alfred’s lip trembles in spite of himself. It’s been a while since he sobbed at Edward’s grave – the last couple of years have been easier – but all this stuff with Jamie seems to be tearing open old wounds.

It was always going to be harder, doing these things again for the first time since he did them with Edward. The idea of moving in with someone else feels like a betrayal. But then, so did the idea of sharing a bed with someone else, so did the idea of going on a date, for a little while. He wonders if maybe he should go back to his therapist.

“I just wish you were here. You’d know what to say,” Alfred’s words come out in choked gasps as he tries to hold back the sobs. He knows Jamie would see if he started to break down, would come over to try and help, would be heartbroken over it. “But then, I guess if you were here none of this would be happening anyway.” 

Alfred wipes his eyes and practices the breathing exercises his therapist taught him. He doesn’t have to use them as often anymore, but, at times like these, there’s pretty much nothing else that can help.

“God, the weeds here really are atrocious, I’ve been neglecting you. I’ll have to come by next week to fix things up,” Alfred prods at a few weeds growing around the gravestone and wonders vaguely if people might think he’s insane if they could hear him. But then he looks around the graveyard and sees other people crouched in front of graves doing the exact same thing as him, so he supposes it’s not so abnormal after all.

He glances back a Jamie with a sigh, checking his watch and realising an hour has already passed. He takes a deep, shuddering breath as he turns back to face the gravestone, pressing his hand against the stone, stroking across the engravings. 

“I love you,” He murmurs, pressing his eyes closed like he can pretend that he’s really speaking to Edward, even as he feels the stone against his hand like a cold, firm reminder. “Always.”

He takes one last deep breath, glancing up at the sky in the hopes of staving off any final tears, before climbing somewhat awkwardly to his feet and dusting off his trousers, heading over to where Jamie is waiting for him.

The drive back to his flat is quiet, almost painfully so.

Alfred can tell Jamie wants to say something, can feel it in the heavy silence sitting between them, but it seems Jamie has the tact to leave it to another day that isn’t the five year anniversary of Edward’s death.

That night, Alfred curls up on his side of the bed, and sobs into his pillow while Jamie sleeps on what had always been Edward’s side, in a different bed, between different sheets. Jamie is a light sleeper, though, and, eventually, he wakes up.

He’s so sweet, pulling Alfred towards him and wrapping him up in strong arms that feel almost like Edward’s in the dark. Alfred can practically feel Jamie’s heart breaking as he sobs into his chest, because what kind of man wants to be competing with a ghost? He can’t help but feel that familiar curl of self-loathing in his stomach when he thinks about what he’s putting Jamie through.

Jamie deserves better than half his heart, he thinks to himself, and yet he can’t bring himself to give him up, and Jamie certainly doesn’t seem to be in any hurry to leave, no matter how much it hurts.

When Jamie asks, Alfred doesn’t have the heart to say that it’s _him_ that’s dug up all these fresh feelings, because that would only make him feel worse, so he lies and says it was a combination of the anniversary and a bad dream.

He tells Jamie he dreamt that he was the drunk driver that hit Edward, that he couldn’t control the car, and he had to witness the whole thing from the perpetrator’s end. Strictly speaking, it’s not a lie. It’s a dream he’s had more times than he’d care to count, but not that night. He can’t tell if Jamie believes him or not.

Still, Jamie gives him a few days before he broaches the subject. 

“So,” he says 3 days later over breakfast, and Alfred knows immediately that this is the conversation he’s been waiting for. “You never really told me much about Edward.”

Alfred swallows. “What do you want to know?”

Jamie averts his eyes, pushing his cereal around the bowl. “I don’t know. I just mean… you don’t talk about him much, and I don’t know if it’s because you don’t want to or because of me.” 

“I didn’t really think it was the kind of thing you’d want to hear about.”

Jamie huffs quietly and turns to face Alfred, taking his hand somewhat tentatively. “I want to be there for you. I can’t do that if you don’t open up to me. I mean, how is this supposed to work if I don’t know how you’re feeling?”

“You want to know if I still love him.” Alfred’s eyes trace over Jamie’s face, watching as his expression flickers briefly from composure to hurt and then back again.

Jamie looks like he wants to contradict Alfred but doesn’t quite have the heart to lie to his face, so he sort of just sits there, watching him.

“Jamie, you have to understand that Edward and I were together for a long time. You know, we met in school, we got married straight out of uni… well. Civil partnership, technically, but we always thought of ourselves as married. And that sort of love… it doesn’t just go away. I mean, we were talking about having kids. On the day he-“ Alfred’s words choke off harshly, as his throat thickens. “On the day he died, we decided we were going to start the paperwork for adoption.”

Jamie looks horrified as Alfred does his best to maintain his composure, chewing on his lip like it might help with the tears threatening to spill down his cheeks.

“I never told anyone that. It always hurt too much, thinking of that lost future I’d never get with him.” Alfred swallows. He can’t quite meet Jamie’s eye as he continues. “He was my soulmate. I really thought he was it for me, you know?” 

He can see the silent question in Jamie’s eyes as he squeezes Alfred’s hand. _What about me? Where do I fit into all this?_

“I love you, Jamie. I really, really do, and I want to move in with you, and maybe one day I’ll want to get married to you, and have kids with you, but…” He trails off.

Jamie nods, pursing his lips. “But.”

“I wish things were different.” It’s half the truth. If Alfred is wishing for something different, he’d be wishing for Edward to be back, and that truth sits heavy between the two of them.

“Yeah, me too.” 

“You have to know, this… It’s going to get easier.” Alfred wants to reach out to Jamie and pull him close the way Jamie has done for him countless times, but it feels wrong in a moment like this. He can’t tell if this is a break-up or not yet. Part of him thinks it should be, thinks maybe he should end it if Jamie doesn’t, but he’s too damn selfish for that. 

“If Edward was here right now-”

Alfred stops Jamie before he can even get started. “Let’s not dwell in hypotheticals,” he parrots the words his therapist had said to him time and time again. “He’s not coming back. I spent so long wishing and wondering, and all it ever did was hurt me, because he is dead, and buried, and there’s no undoing that. All we have now is the aftermath.”

“So you love him.” Jamie has retreated a little, taken his hand back from Alfred’s and turned inwards.

“I’ll always love him. But I love you too, and I know we could get through this, if you wanted,” Alfred reaches out to Jamie but stops short, dropping his hand, still outstretched, to the table. “But you don’t have to settle for that. If you want to leave and find someone else with less baggage, I understand. You deserve everything you want.” Alfred swallows back the lump in his throat. He doesn’t really know if he could lose Jamie as well, but real love isn’t selfish, and it’s high time he learned that lesson. 

Jamie stares straight ahead at the wall for what feels like an eternity, before settling his hand in Alfred’s.

Alfred feels his heart swell in his chest, even though he knows the pain ahead of them both if they decide to go ahead with this. How many more nights will he spend crying into Jamie’s shirt over Edward? How many more grave visits with Jamie waiting in the corner? How many more meltdowns about next steps? How many more conversations like this one?

“We’ll get through this,” Jamie whispers, but something in Alfred’s heart doesn’t quite believe him. 

Still, they try.

Alfred is more open with Jamie about Edward, about his feelings, about what hurts and what doesn’t. He talks about their past, about the time they went camping and their tent collapsed in the middle of the night, and the time they got kicked out of a restaurant for making a mess after they started a small food-fight, or the time when Alfred was working in Paris for a few weeks and Edward tried to surprise him but got the Eurostar to Disneyland Paris instead of actual Paris and ended up spending a night in one of the themed hotels after he missed the last train back. Jamie had quite liked that one.

Alfred is showing him a photo album one night, at Jamie’s request, talking him through the pictures of their island hopping adventures in Greece, particularly the photo which captures Alfred’s spectacular belly-flop into the pool, when he hits the final page. It’s a single photo framing Edward’s face in a side-profile, curls in his face, a small smile tilting up his lips as he looks down at the book he’s reading. There’s an Order of Service pasted on the opposite page with the same picture on the front.

“This is the last photo I have of him,” Alfred says, as his laughter dies in his throat. “Just a couple of days before he died. He was reading a book, and he had this gorgeous smile on his face and I just knew it was a moment I would want to remember, so I took a photo.” Alfred sniffs, closing the photo album and setting it aside. “I didn’t quite realise then just how important it was.” 

Jamie watches him for a moment, like he’s feeling out the way the mood has dropped all of a sudden from laughing at dorky holiday photos.

“What was it like?” Jamie immediately looks like he regrets asking, like he knows he’s prodding at something that’s still incredibly sensitive.

“Losing him?” Alfred swallows. “It was… Unimaginable. I mean, you think you know what a broken heart feels like, and then…”

“I shouldn’t have asked, I’m sorry.” Jamie rubs his thumb across the back of Alfred’s hand.

Alfred shakes his head quickly. “No. I need to talk about this stuff. I mean, I can’t just pretend that those first few months after he died didn’t exist. They _did_ , and they were _horrible_ , and I should acknowledge that.” 

Jamie looks like he wants to contest that, especially when he sees the way Alfred’s bottom lip is trembling, but he nods and squeezes Alfred’s hand. “What happened?” 

Alfred sucks in a deep breath. He’s never really told anyone about those first few months, not even his therapist. People either rode them out with him or were left oblivious to the hell he’d been through.

“I was at home when they called,” he begins. “Edward had left me a voicemail to tell me he was working late on a huge project, so I invited Mina over to have a catch-up, drink some wine, moan about how much we missed our partners. I got a call at eight minutes past ten, while Mina was in the kitchen trying to find ice cream.”

His chest feels tight, like he can’t quite breathe properly, so he focuses his attention on the feeling of Jamie’s hand in his, like it can ground him in the present.

“The woman on the other end of the phone told me that my husband had been in an accident with a drunk driver. And she told me that he had died in the ambulance on his way to the hospital, and that they couldn’t resuscitate him.” He takes a shaky breath. “I couldn’t say anything, I mean I didn’t even know what to say, I just… I collapsed, and I started _screaming_. My neighbours thought I was being murdered.

 “Mina came running in, and she didn’t understand what had happened until I passed her the phone. She spoke to the people at the hospital and figured out what we needed to do. She was… incredible. I don’t know what I would have done if she wasn’t there. I mean, in that moment I seriously considered just walking into the kitchen and grabbing the closest knife and just ending it all because I didn’t want to face life without him.”

“Alfred…” Jamie murmurs, gently bringing Alfred back from his reverie, and Alfred realises faintly that he’s been crying.

“I’m okay,” Alfred says, more to himself than to Jamie.

Jamie, again, looks unconvinced, but nods. “What happened after that?”

“We arranged the funeral as quickly as possible, spared no expense. We’d been saving up for years hoping to move into a house before we adopted, so… I cried through most of it. Mina had to read my eulogy for me because I couldn’t speak. I mean, I wanted nothing more than to jump into the grave beside him and be buried with him.

“After the funeral, I pretty much shut down. I mean, I didn’t eat, I didn’t shower, I didn’t speak… I couldn’t sleep because when I did I dreamt of Edward and then I woke up alone. I went back to live with my parents for a little while, because I couldn’t handle being in our flat, because he was just… _everywhere_.

“When I came back, Mina basically moved in with me for three months. I can’t even imagine what sort of strain that put her marriage under. I mean, Flo was dealing with losing her best friend and her wife was sleeping on my floor instead of with her… I’ll never be able to make that up to them both.” Alfred knows for a fact that that was one of the worst times in Flo and Mina’s otherwise perfect marriage. He also knows they almost got divorced over it, while he was too out of it to even realise something was up.

“I just sat there staring at the wall, playing the voicemail Edward left me that afternoon on repeat.”

He can still hear it in his head, like an echo that will never fade out.

_Hey, darling. They want me to stay late at the office to prepare this big pitch, I’m really sorry. I know we were supposed to be having dinner together to talk about everything, I promise I’ll make it up to you. I love you. Bye._

It’s still saved to his phone. He’d never tell Jamie but he still listens to it every now and then, just to make sure he doesn’t forget the sound of Edward’s voice, the sound of his laugh in response to something someone yelled at him just before he says bye.

“It got easier, eventually. Mina encouraged me to go to a grief counsellor, which helped a lot, and time helped too. I went back to work, started trying to pick up the pieces of my life again, started accepting that he was gone. But that first year… I mean, I spent the whole time just wishing I was dead too, wishing I could stop living without him.”

Alfred wipes his eyes quickly before the tears welling in his eyes can make their way down his cheeks.

“Getting over Edward was the hardest thing I will ever do. I look back, and I wonder how I survived it at all. I wouldn’t wish that sort of pain on anyone,” Alfred says, shaking his head and wiping furiously at his eyes. 

Jamie quickly grabs a box of tissues off the coffee table and pulls a few of them out, passing them over to Alfred, who smiles gratefully at him as he takes them and wipes away the tears. There’s this weird look on his face, like he’s trying so hard to be supportive, like he _wants_ to be supportive, but it’s hurting him all the same. 

_No more tears_ , Alfred tells himself. He knows full well that every time he cries it breaks Jamie’s heart just a little more. It’s just another reminder of the fact that Alfred will always be just a little bit in love with someone else.

Jamie’s adam’s apple bobs up and down as he swallows, squeezing Alfred’s hand. “I’m so sorry. I wish there was something I could do.”

Alfred shakes his head. “It’s in the past,” he says.

They both know it’s a lie, that ‘getting over Edward’ will never be strictly in the past. It’s an ongoing process, something Alfred will have to work at for the rest of his life, even if it gets easier. But for the moment, they can pretend.

**Author's Note:**

> hmmm pls don't kill me, if you actually got to the end of that
> 
> huge _huge_ thanks to mia for listening to me ramble about this and reading my deeply tragic fic
> 
> let me know what you thought! i thrive on feedback <3
> 
> thank you for reading!! <3


End file.
